


It's All Fine

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexuality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Asexual Awareness Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Fine

The couple had died whilst in the throes of passion and their cold, greying corpses were still locked together on the bed and their faces frozen, permanently contorted in either pain or pleasure – Sherlock couldn't tell. He couldn't prevent a grimace of disgust from crossing his own face at the sight, and he paused for a millisecond in the doorway before continuing over to the bed to examine them.

Donovan, who had drawn the short straw and been sent to keep an eye on him until John arrived, noticed and raised her eyebrows. “I think that's the first time I've ever seen you be anything other than excited to see a crime scene,” she said. “Even at that boy's murder last year, the one that gave most normal people nightmares.”

“You've never had a nightmare about a crime scene in your life,” said Sherlock tersely, bending to examine the woman's fingernails where they were embedded in the shoulders of her lover.

Donovan shrugged that away. “I've been disturbed by them,” she said. “Threw up a couple of times when I was new, but I've never seen you even blink, until now.”

Sherlock sighed, pulling out his magnifier in order to examine the man's hair in closer detail. “It's sex,” he said, annoyed at having to explain himself.

“And?” asked Donovan, her brain clearly too slow to comprehend what Sherlock had meant by that. “Everyone does it. Most people don't die during it, but-”

“I don't 'do it',” said Sherlock firmly. “Disgusting waste of time.” Both sets of clothes were discarded carelessly on the floor, but the man's wallet was carefully placed on the bedside table. Interesting.

Donovan stopped mid-sentence. “What?” she said. “Of course you do – or you would, if you could find anyone crazy enough to want to touch you.”

“On the contrary,” said Sherlock, frowning down at sheet that was tangled around the couple's feet. “I've had plenty of offers, but absolutely no desire to take any of them up. Sex is of no interest to me at all.”

There was blissful silence for a few moments and Sherlock continued his investigation with the fingerprint-sized bruises that had formed on the man's hips.

“You really are a freak,” said Donovan eventually, as if it were a pronouncement from God. Sherlock ignored her – her opinion was of as little interest to him as the act of copulation.

“I'm pretty sure that the modern police force is meant to be more polite than that,” said a welcome voice, and Sherlock straightened up and turned around to see John standing in the doorway. “Perhaps you should think about going on some kind of sensitivity training.” He nodded at Sherlock. “Hello, I see you found yet another excuse to get out of going shopping.”

“John,” Sherlock greeted him with relief. Now that John was here, Donovan could disappear off to bother someone else. “I need a cause of death.”

John sighed as if he hadn't abandoned lunch with his sister just to rush across town to provide such a thing and moved towards the bed.

“He is a freak,” insisted Donovan. “He says he doesn't like sex. As a medical man, you must admit that that's not normal, biologically speaking.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth. Donovan's opinion along with that of most of the Metropolitan Police might mean nothing to him, but John's was more important than he was prepared to admit, even to himself. The last thing he wanted was to hear what John's reaction to his lack of sexual interest might be. He bent down to look at the woman's handbag even though there was nothing of interest about it, so that he could hide his face from them both. He couldn't always control his reactions around John, and John knew him too well now, well enough to read more than Sherlock wanted him to from just his face.

John snorted and bent down to inspect the woman's mouth and eyes. “As a medical man, I can tell you that there's no such thing as normal, biologically speaking.”

“Oh, come on,” said Donovan. “Sex is a basic human need – it's encoded into our DNA for us to like it.”

“Wrong, actually,” said John. He turned away from his inspection to fix her with a glare. “Very wrong – it's far more common than you might think for people to find it of no interest, and if you can't be civil about such things, I really will recommend to Lestrade that you be sent on a sensitivity course. Classifying everything you don't understand as 'freakish' is playground behaviour.”

Sherlock had to stop very still for a moment and take a breath that he hoped neither of them noticed. A warm feeling was settling into his chest, one that had been unfamiliar to him before he met John but which was becoming all too common now, and which he hadn't yet properly worked out how to deal with.

Donovan let out an aggravated noise. “You're probably just as much of a freak as he is,” she spat angrily. “I bet you like being tied up and beaten.”

Sherlock stood up. “Actually, John's sexlife is very mundane,” he said with authority. “The missionary position last night again, wasn't it?”

John choked and turned towards him with a glare. “Sherlock!” he hissed. He didn't bother asking how Sherlock had deduced that, and Sherlock was slightly disappointed. He enjoyed laying out the obvious signs that told him every detail of John's life, even those John thought he had managed to hide.

Donovan half-shook her head. “So weird,” she muttered under her breath, before finally stalking off.

Sherlock allowed some of the tension in his back dissipate and turned to John, who was still glaring furiously at him. “Cause of death?” he prompted.

John's glare turned into a long-suffering sigh. “Sudden, massive strokes,” he said. “But I've no idea why they'd both have one at the same time.”

“I suspect it has a lot to do with the third person who was here,” said Sherlock, turning to take a last look at the room. “We need to ask Lestrade if he knows any local prostitutes with dyed red hair and a speciality in threesomes.”

“I'm sure he'll be thrilled to be asked that question,” said John with a sly grin. “Prostitutes and strokes – I can already tell this is going to be a fun one.”

“Indeed,” said Sherlock, eager to get on with it, but he hesitated before heading out of the room to find Lestrade. “John...” he said carefully.

John looked at him with the same open expression he always had, no hint of reserve or judgement in his eyes. “Yes?” he asked when Sherlock failed to finish his sentence, not completely sure what he wanted to say.

“About what Donovan said,” said Sherlock slowly.

John blinked as if processing, and then rolled his eyes with an amused sigh. “I told you,” he reminded Sherlock. “It's all fine.” He smiled Sherlock as if he was an idiot for ever doubting that, and Sherlock reflected that he probably was.

He smiled back, bouncing on his heels. “Let's find our prostitute,” he said with glee, and headed off to interrogate Lestrade, John on his heels as always. There were plenty of more interesting and exciting things to concentrate on than his lack of interest in revolting physical activities, after all.


End file.
